


Cutting Some Slack

by kangeiko



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen, my early fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-07-14
Updated: 2000-07-14
Packaged: 2017-10-09 21:47:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/91947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kangeiko/pseuds/kangeiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set late S3, Buffy thinks back on <i>Becoming</i> and <i>Dead man's Party</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cutting Some Slack

He didn't tell me.

And then he had the fucking nerve to call me irresponsible. Selfish.

_Me?_

Oh yeah. I was selfish all right. Because I wanted to give my lover a chance at life. Because I was ready to kill him regardless.

But. He. Just. _Forgot._

Forgot? Is that any kind of thing to forget? You must have set your mind to it, concentrated for a nice long time to make yourself forget. But he looked at me guilelessly, waiting for me to say that it's all right. And I said it. I swallowed my rage and I said I was sorry, I apologised for every fucking thing I'd done, all in the name of saving his miserable hide. And you know the kicker? It was all just to see him give me that patronising look, like he'd known all along, and was going to be magnanimous this time.

Idiot.

Did he really think I was being sincere? Maybe I was, at that. I felt so low, then... like I'd been the world's worst person in running. Everyone had told me how wrong it had been for me to run. No one had given one lousy thought as to what I must have felt to have to run.

Of course, it was his fault, that little sojourn from reality. Like I could come back to his smug face! Oh, and when I returned - there smug faces were. From him to my mother, to my so-called best friend... okay, we made up. Not allowed to bad-mouth her. But him I can bad-mouth all I want. See, for him it's easy. Whatever we do, we cut him some slack. Because he wants me, and that taints his judgement somewhat. Well, whoopee do. I want someone too, and am I cut slack? No. Not by him.

But I have to put up with it. Because he wants me.

He looks at me, and I shiver. It's not a nice feeling. It's like he's mentally undressing me - with his girlfriend in the fucking room! But, still, he can't help that, can he? So we cut him some slack. And that stupid, stupid spell of his that had me offering myself to him... I cut him slack for that. The person he hurt the most didn't, but she got over it quickly enough. Whoopee for him. He gets more slack cuttage.

And still, it went on. Little things - annoying things - lewd things. He's a guy - cut him some slack. He wants you - cut him some slack.

What about what I want? Did he once ask? No. I leave, because hey, I'm having a major crisis. Does he cut me any slack? Oh, no. 'Cause, see, that would be too goddamned human of him. No, he lays into me like I'm the Anti-Christ. And everyone stands by and nods.

It was up to Cordelia - Cordelia, for Christssake! - to defend me. While he carried on with his little speech about how irresponsible I was. Oh, but I swallowed my pride then, as I'd swallowed it before, and I grovelled afterwards. I apologised. I didn't say anything about his murder.

His fucking MURDER.

Because that's what it was. He didn't fucking tell me, and I killed the only person I have ever loved. I don't know if it would have been different if I'd known... but, damnit, I would have thought of something. I could have delayed it all somehow... maybe lost a limb, I don't know, but it would have been enough... a minute, maybe two. And my lover would have been safe.

But he didn't tell me.

If it had been anyone else, that would have been murder. But my lover is not a man in his eyes. My lover did not deserve to live. My lover was judged my him as guilty, and destroyed.

Who the hell is he to pass judgement? He, who destroyed my best friend's relationship? Who destroyed Cordelia, whose eyes are empty now - Cordelia, who was always so alive and happy, now broken? Who still looks at me like I'm a piece of meat? But, we cut him slack for that. Because he's a guy. And because he had no control over his emotions.

Well, fuck me three ways from Sunday. I don't care anymore.

I don't know when I stopped caring. Maybe it was when I looked down into a monster's face and saw my lover's eyes staring back at me, confused. Maybe it was when I realised that I wouldn't even get a 'sorry' from him because of my lover's death. No. Oh, no. Because, in his eyes, he'd done the right thing.

And the world obviously had to adopt his view. Because everyone agreed with him.

Now - no more. The end of the line, as they say. Because he arrives at my house with this mock-mournful face on. I can see the smile on his lips, carefully hidden form the rest, but obvious to me. He got what he wanted.

In his hands is a plastic bag. He didn't even have the decency to get a box for the -

Ashes.

That was what he brought me, and that was why there was a sly little smile on his lips as he told me of my lover's death. At his hands.

Oh, he didn't say that, of course. He simply hadn't seen the stake in the hidden vampire's hand in time to warn my lover to duck. Or to move to the side. Or to move at all. He hadn't had time to do anything but watch him crumble into dust, and then gather the ashes in a plastic fucking bag and bring them to me. A testament of his stupidity.

Ashes? Is that what he brings me? Not tears, not a frown, not a hug of comfort but one of careful more-than-friendliness? Stupid, stupid, stupid, to think that I'd fall for his little act. He's glad - he's so glad he might be skipping on his way home.

But maybe that would be too much. After all, he's supposed to be cut up about this. Supposed to be sorry he killed him - again.

I looked down at the little bag he left me, and desperately lie to myself. It's not proof, I tell myself. He could have... he could have just had to leave quickly, and this was some elaborate lie. Maybe... maybe someone else abducted him, and left these ashes behind to prove to me that he's dead. Maybe he's not really dead. After all, it could be cigarette ash.

I take a deep, angry breath and, just before the tears start to fall, I concede defeat. Because it even smells like him, this remnant. Is this all I get? A plastic bag of cigarette ash that has that faint aroma of pain and blood and tears and love and sex that my lover had? That's all that was left to him.

You killed him once, shame on you. You killed him twice, shame on me.

My face is hardening, and I can't help it. The bag fell to the ground and the ashes spilled out. I think I must have trampled them into the ground on my way out, but I don't remember. Maybe it's better than way, anyway. Like a burial of sorts. In any case, they're gone, those ashes. And all I know is that now I'm outside, and I'm not in the mood for cutting anyone any more slack.

By tomorrow morning, Xander Harris will join Angel in the ground.

*

fin


End file.
